Devil's Advocate: a Drarry Fic
by SnapDragon1317
Summary: Stranded at a summer camp for teenage criminals, it's a pity that bad boys never were Harry's type - at least, not until now. AU SLASH HPDM with JPSB undertones
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This is strictly AU. None of the characters are related unless specifically stated.**

 **Warning: This is also slash. DracoxHarry with SiriusxJames undertones. Go ahead and flame though, it boosts my review stats.**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't need this disclaimer now would I? ;)**

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The Dursleys kicked me out of their house.

Aunt Petunia waited with me at the bus stop, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her minivan and pretending I wasn't there. She was fed up with me, and I knew she was counting the minutes until I left.

"I'll get a job," I pleaded. "I'll make money and then you won't have to pay for my food."

"Where? People aren't going to hire you dressed like that," she snapped, barely glancing at me.

I shrunk into the car seat. What the heck was wrong with gym shorts? "Most jobs have uniforms," I reminded her. And it was summer. And I was going to sleep-away camp - _everybody_ was probably going to be wearing gym shorts.

"You can get a job next summer," said Aunt Petunia coldly, "but I'm not going to help you fill out the paperwork."

Part of me wished the bus would hurry up and arrive, because my aunt was making me sick. A bus full of teenagers might not be a very safe place, but at least no one would be wrinkling their nose at me and acting like I didn't exist.

"Harry's going to rehab!" sang Dudley from the backseat. "And I get the Xbox _allll_ summer."

"It's not rehab, _Duddykins_ , it's summer camp," I said, even though he was right - it _was_ rehab. Because the Dursleys didn't think I was normal, and my therapist had suggested I try something new, and apparently getting a job wasn't "new" enough. So Uncle Vernon found this all-summer sleepaway camp to help "troubled" teens, even though I tried to explain to them that I wasn't troubled anymore.

"Hopefully you'll cut this freak act once you realize what the real world is like," he had sneered, ignoring me.

Because a job wasn't real-world enough **?** And my friend Neville said he was going to get me a job at his dad's mechanics shop and everything, before my freakin' family ruined it. Honestly. None of my friends could believe my aunt and uncle were even allowed to have children.

"I think I see Ron's car," I said quickly, even though I didn't, and I fumbled with the minivan door. Aunt Petunia sniffed and shoved my backpack across the seat toward me as I hopped out, I and slung it over my shoulder without saying anything. I glanced around the Walgreens parking lot. No bus. No red Jeep with Ron's obnoxious music blasting out of it.

I walked away across the parking lot, pretending I had somewhere to go. It hurt to leave, even though I hated that minivan. It wasn't pleasant, but it was safe, and now I had to leave everything I'd ever known. For two months, I'd get no personal bedroom. No privacy.

I was so used to the obnoxious music that I didn't even notice Ron's Jeep until he pulled into a parking space a few spots away. "Oi! Harry!" he shouted out his window, turning down the radio to a socially acceptable level.

Relief settled on my shoulders as I jogged over to him. "Hey, Ron. My aunt just dropped me off."

"Yeah, my parents are at work," said Ron, jumping out of the car. "Charlie's taking this baby home. I'm gonna miss you, Jazz," he said, patting his Jeep.

Ron's older brother, Charlie, slid into the driver's seat with a goofy grin on his face. I guessed he was as excited about having the Jeep to himself as Dudley was about having the Xbox to himself. Ron dragged his backpack out and threw it over his shoulder. "My mom tried to get me to take a bunch of shit with me," he said, "but I told her more backpacks meant more ways to sneak coke in."

Ron was a partier, and when he partied, he partied hard. I remembered everything about the night he had overdosed: late April, babysitting Dudley, a phone call from Ron's parents asking where he was. I said I didn't know. Ron hadn't asked me to cover for him, so I figured he was just running late or something. Phone call a few minutes later, Ron's parents frantic, asking where Cedric Diggory's party was. Text from Ron's parents much later that night. Ron was in the ER getting his stomach pumped.

I was kind of mad at him. He could have died, and there were a lot of people who relied on him, like his little sister **,** and our whole basketball team **,** and _me._ He had beengrounded for the rest of the school year, which made me sad on the one hand - I couldn't hang out with him very much - but relieved on the other hand. At least he couldn't kill himself holed up in his bedroom.

"I still can't believe we have to do this," I said.

"Yeah, I feel ya," said Ron, waving as Charlie pulled away in the Jeep. "And you're a good kid. You've never even gotten a detention, have you?"

"Yeah, I have. Remember that time I was late and my aunt wouldn't call me in?"

Ron grimaced. "Ugh. Still. Sending you to juvie camp? I mean I get the whole divorce-counselor thing, but two months of boot camp? Your aunt and uncle realize we're probably going to have to do army drills, right?"

He was exaggerating again. "They think I'm still troubled about it," I said. "' _Troubled_.'"

It was a half-truth. I'd been visiting the counselor since middle school, a couple years before my aunt and uncle's divorce when I was fourteen. They'd been on-and-off since our seventh-grade family feud, but I only started using the term "divorce counseling" to explain my biweekly absences freshman year. That was my excuse for why they were sending me to Bedlam Boys' Camp - they thought I was still upset about the divorce.

I was, of course. But that wasn't why they were _really_ sending me. I'd never tell _anyone_ why they were sending me.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Ron made a face. "This camp's going to be awful. It's a good thing I've been grounded for awhile, so I'm used to complete and utter boredom. Plus I don't have to go cold turkey with a bunch of medical freaks watching me."

At least he hadn't been smoking or drinking much at home. "Do you think there's gonna be serial killer kids and stuff? I mean like real criminals?"

Ron snorted with laughter. "Real criminals are in real juvie, Harry. This is just rehab camp."

I wanted to say " _It's not rehab"_ but I kept my mouth shut. As long as Ron was going too, I could stand a couple months of rehab/juvie or whatever he wanted to call it. "Still. It's probably going to be full of weirdos."

"You can't really talk, you're a weirdo too."

That would have stung coming from my mother, but it just slid off my back coming from Ron. "So are you. You listen to Lady Gaga."

"No shame, bro."

I saw the top of the yellow bus over the cars. "Here we go," I said, hitching my bag higher on my shoulders.

"We got this, dude," Ron assured me.

The bus stopped on the other side of the parking lot, so Ron and I crossed between the rows of cars, backpacks thumping. I kept my eyes forward, daring to glance into the bus windows. No one stared back. The few boys I could see sat in the way, way back, eyes closed, headphones on, backs to me. This was not going to be easy.

The bus doors swung open like the jaws of doom (that's how it was in the video games, anyway). The bus driver, a hulking man, took our paperwork and told us to "sit down and stay down."

Ron and I took the farthest available seats in the back. Across the aisle, a couple of boys were huddled over a video game. I did my best not to stare at their spiky hair and the one boy's flashy earrings as I dropped my backpack on the floor.

 _I will never make friends here,_ I thought.

"At least the bros here will be chill," said Ron, after glancing around at the guys on the bus. "Hey, where're you two from?" he asked, leaning around me to address the kids across the aisle.

This was so _easy_ for him.

The boy with the purple earrings looked up, eyes ringed all the way around with heavy, dark eyeliner. "Wha' school or wha' prison?" he asked.

"Damn!" his friend shouted, punching buttons on his video game. "I fucking lost to a fucking computer!"

Scooting as subtly as I could away from them, I tried a weak laugh. _I should never have gotten out of my mother's car. This summer is going to be a disaster._

"What school," said Ron, grinning.

 _I'll be lucky if I survive with all my limbs._

"Eas'wood High," said the earrings boy. "M'name's Sirius Black."

"Fucking dammit," muttered his friend. "I can't believe I fucking lost."

"An' this's James," added Sirius, smiling affectionately. "Y'all won' b'lieve what he's comin' ta camp for," he added, lowering his voice and stifling a laugh.

"Hey!" said James, snapping his attention away from the video game. "You shut up!"

"Why'dja prison guards sen' y'all away?" asked , without bothering to tell us what he or James had done wrong, which I thought was a bit suspicious. Maybe he was just trying to get dirt on us so he could pick on us later.

But before I could warn Ron, he was already shooting his mouth off. "My parents thought I partied too much. And Harry here is in for divorce therapy." He smacked my shoulder, like there was some camaraderie about spilling my secrets to strangers.

" _Ron!_ " I hissed, but the other boys were just nodding.

"M'paren's made me come, too," said Sirius. "T' was m'shrink's idea. Not like James - th' cops made him come."

"Sirius, shut your fat-ass mouth or I'll tell everyone about that time I caught you wearing a flowery apron," snapped James, eyes back on his game.

Sirius faked a gasp. "Now tha' would be truly horrible, mate."

James looked back up. "Just ignore Sirius, the little piece of shit," he growled. "I'm not a fucking criminal and that's fucking final, you hear me, dick?"

Sirius grinned, and when he stuck out his tongue to lick his lips, I caught the glimmerof a tongue piercing. "Yeah, yeah, wha'evah ya say, mate."

Ron just grinned at me and stuck an earbud in. "Wanna listen to some Lady Gaga?" he asked, only because he knew I'd say no.

I slugged his shoulder, but not too hard **,** which made me feel wimpy, especially with gangster Sirius and his cussing buddy watching me. "No thanks," I said, and one of the boys snorted, which made me feel girly. I dug my heels into the floor of the bus and prepared for a long, long bus ride.

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 **A/N: Please review if you want this story to be continued. I won't update unless you guys want it :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"We're almost there!" shouted the obnoxious younger boy in front of me, his voice piping high-pitched above the dull din of the bus.

I glanced up from my game and looked out the window. It was starting to get dark outside, and I couldn't really see much except the hazy outlines of trees. "It looks like we're in the middle of nowhere," I said to Ron, who just grunted - he couldn't hear me over his music.

Sirius disentangled himself from a shadowy lump in the corner that I thought might be James. "Yep," he said, yawning loudly. "Good ol' Bedlam."

I glanced askance at him and James sat up, too. "If you fucking call this place _good ol'_ again, I'm gonna tell your fucking shrink that you're a gay bastard," James boy threatened.

A flush started on my neck but I just _couldn't_ stop looking as Sirius pushed his face into James's and - oh, _gosh -_ started making sucking noises. I knew gay kids, sure, and I sure as hell wasn't in a position to look down on LGBT teens, but... but making out on the bus? Just right out in public like that? Like everyone was just going to be okay with it? It kind of stung - it was as if they _didn't even care._ Hadn't they ever had a Dudley in their life?

Sirius pulled back, and in the semi-darkness I swore I saw that lip ring flash again. "Go ahead," he said, mocking. "Imma tell y'mama."

"We're almost there!" sang the kid in front of me. "This summer's gonna be _awesome!"_

 _Awesome? At a freak camp?_ I shook my attention away from Sirius and James and nudged Ron. "We're almost there," I told him. The dread from earlier started up in my throat, and I tried to swallow it. I wasn't a wimp _._ And it couldn't be _that_ bad.

Ron heaved himself up straighter in his seat, shaking his red hair out of his face. "It's about time," he grumbled, popping out his earbuds. "Honestly, my parents could have just signed me up for community service or something."

Mentally, I thanked him for agreeing that this whole camp thing was awful, but his comment kind of pissed me off. Not at him, at my aunt and uncle. Because I hadn't done _anything_ to deserve community service, much less a fuckin' therapy camp, and now I was stuck here with all these delinquent kids. And I wasn't even a bad kid. In fact, by the average person's standards, I was a good kid. I played basketball, stayed out of the way, and did most of my homework. What more did they want?

Except I knew exactly what they wanted. They'd planned it all out after Dudley was born. And I'd screwed up the family.

I buried those thoughts. It was just two months, and Ron would be here. It would be weird to admit it out loud, but I needed Ron. After middle school and... and everything that had happened in middle school, Ron had saved me. Which sounded girly, so I buried that thought too.

I heaved my backpack up into my lap as the bus started to slow down. "Are we there?" I asked, leaning forward. "I don't see anything."

Sirius laughed, kissing James noisily again, and half-stood in his seat. "Bedlam's a dump, mate," he said. "Basic'lly a bunch o' ol' warehouses wi' cots. An' a coupla dudes wi' nowhere ta go so they volunteer here fo' the summer."

"Sirius's exaggerating," chirped the kid in front of us. "Bedlam's great! And the counselors are really nice, and the cabins are huge, and the food's great!"

"Yeah, if y'all like prison food," said Sirius, grinning at me the way a wolf looks at a sheep.

I swallowed.

All the boys left the bus single-file, and I couldn't help feeling like I was going to jail. A big, stone building loomed ahead of us, and that was all I could see. _Prison._ A tall man in a suit was waiting for us, and even he looked like a prison guard.

"Welcome to Bedlam Boys' Camp," he said, hands behind his back, feet spread wide apart, eyes fixed on some point over our heads. "As you enter the main building, please remain silent and respectful. You will be assigned a cabin where you will sleep for the duration of your stay. Afterwards, you will report back to the main building for dinner, when the rules will be read. Strict adherence to the rules is compulsory."

Ron leaned in and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "What's ' _compulsory_ '?"

"It means you have to do it," I whispered back, as soft as I could.

"T'means if ya cross ol' Fudge, ya get in some deep shit," whispered Sirius, not so softly.

"You over there!" snapped Fudge, without looking at any of us. "SIlence is compulsory!"

I decided I was not a fan of Sirius.

"Follow me," said Fudge in a clipped voice, and he turned on his heel and strutted back towards the prison building. The line of boys trailed after him, but I lagged behind, trying to delay this camp thing as long as possible. I was sort of afraid that if I entered the building, they'd never let me leave.

"C'mon, mate," said Sirius, ignoring the "compulsory" rules, and patted me on the head as I passed.

I gritted my teeth and hitched my backpack higher on my back. I hated being short. And I hated the way that people _treated_ me because I was short. "Everything okay down there, sport?" people would say. _Fucking bastards._

The inside of the building was big, empty, and sectioned off by those partition boards that didn't even reach halfway to the ceiling. Which was to be expected, I guess, because the ceiling was one of those huge warehouse ceilings that was about two stories high. A fan whirred between the pipes that ran across it. "Not the cozy kind of camp, then," Ron commented.

I swallowed. "Yeah. You can say _that_ again."

"That again," said Ron, all cheeky, and I slugged his shoulder again.

Sirius turned around. "We're _delinquen's,_ ' didja expect, a five-star 'otel?"

I gritted my teeth. We were not _all_ delinquents. Some of us were normal, teenage boys with a few family (and personal) issues, thank you very much, Mr. Lip-Piercing. And this was supposed to be a therapy place, not a prison.

A spindly little guy, probably a college student, checked off names. "Harry Potter?" he called, frowning at the page. "Harry...Potter."

"That's me," I mumbled to Sirius and James, pushing my way past them.

"Nice name," said the counselor in a clipped voice, but I could've sworn he gave me a small smile as he looked back down at the paper. "Cabin 6. Last one."

I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, so I just gripped my backpack and asked, "Um...so, um, do I just go there?"

"Go meet your counselor by the door," said the man, pointing to another door without looking up. "James Evans?"

James ended up joining me next to several other boys and a tall man with a crew cut holding a sign with a 6 on it. The dark-haired boy nodded briefly at me, still messing with his handheld video game.

Sirius came up behind James and slid his hands into the redhead's pockets. "Guess we get ta be tagether again...all summer long," he said with another wicked grin.

"Fuck you," muttered James, squirming away.

Were they dating? I couldn't tell. Maybe they were just...kissy. And gay.

I glanced back at the table and my heart sunk - Ron was already walking towards a different group. He gave me a thumbs-up, but I couldn't shake the fact that they were _separating us_ \- and how was that supposed to help me therapize? Or whatever? How was that supposed to help me _feel better,_ if they were abandoning me with strangers?

"Alright, soldiers, let's move!" barked the man with the 6 sign. "Single file, straight down the path! Last building!"

I filed out of the warehouse behind James, who hunched when he went through the door, even though it was nowhere near too small for him. He was probably six four or six five, so I guessed it was just a habit. I wished I had to hunch to go through doors. I wished _Ron_ was coming _with_ us.

The sky was a dark blue painted with the outlines of black trees that surrounded us. So we were in a forest of some sort. Far from civilization. Which meant far from cops. And we were living in cabins with potential sociopaths? How was _this_ supposed to be therapy? It felt more like a death threat.

After too many silent footsteps through the dark, silent night, we reached the end of the path. The counselor marched to the front of the line and unlocked the door to the - well - the cabin, I guessed. But it looked more like an old storage building. Same stone or mortar or whatever, like the warehouse, just smaller. Hopefully that would protect us from the wild animals in the woods. _Dammit, I am such a wuss._

The cabin wasn't as big on the inside as it looked on the outside. Just a plain room, with a few couches, a tan carpet, and some shelves with board games. No TV, I noticed. They must have donethat on purpose. For the first time I wondered if they had cell phone reception **,** and my stomach tightened. I had to be able to call home if I needed anything.

"This is the recreational room," barked the counselor. "That's the bunk room **,** " he pointed to a door **,** "that's my room," he pointed to a door with a padlock **,** "and those are the showers. Everyone clear?"

 _The showers._ I swallowed. I'd tried to tell my parents that I'd never survive in communal showers, but they'd assured me that everything would be nice and private, with doors and curtains and everything. I sure hoped they were right. My mom didn't have a great history of being right.

"Now I'm going to give out your bunk assignments. Listen sharp!" he slammed open the heavy metal door to the bunk room and waved his arm impatiently.

The boys all hurried in and stood crowded among rows of bunks. The counselor matched in and shut the door with a loud _clank._ Everything went black, and I got this prickly, sweaty feeling like the counselor was about to attack us.

Then he flicked a switch and a single lightbulb sputtered to life over our heads. It didn't do much except throw creepy shadows into the corner - yes, I am _such_ a sissy - but it was better than nothing.

"What if the light goes out?" asked the little kid from on the bus, sounding nervous.

"Then you come to get me and I screw in a new lightbulb," barked the counselor. "Alright, bed assignments. Bunk 1A, Colin Creevey."

The little kid glanced around, not so excited anymore. He didn't seem to know where he was going, so the counselor shoved him towards the first row of bunks.

I watched the bunks get assigned boy by boy. Sirius stuck out his tongue when James got paired with a boy named Percy, and slowly the numbers dwindled. Finally, the counselor announced, "Harry Potter, Bunk 7A," and jabbed his thumb at a bunk right in the shadowy corner next to a cracked window. I swallowed hard. _How bad can it be?_

Shit, that was becoming my motto...

I crossed the room to my bunk as the counselor called, "Tom Riddle, Bunk 7B."

My bunkmate. I turned around, praying it wouldn't be some giant, terrifying hulk, but the boy stepping carefully over to the corner was probably the smallest kid there, even shorter than Colin. He glanced up at me with shy, long-lashed eyes, and I almost _stopped breathing._

My bunkmate was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.

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 **A/N: Thanks to everyone who supported last chapter! PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU WANT A CONTINUATION. I won't update this story unless you guys want me to :)**

 **Again, ages and relationships are variable and not linked to the books. Which reminds me, disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books, they belong to the most wonderful person on this planet (aka Ms. Rowling).**

 **There will be some HarryxTom stuffs but in the end this story will be HarryxDraco. Thanks again!**


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